


Don't Ask, Don't Tell

by veronamay



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Early Work, Gang Rape, M/M, Rape Recovery, Revenge, Rimming, Twincest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-08
Updated: 2004-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy asks Connor for something, but gets more than he bargained for elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Ask, Don't Tell

**Author's Note:**

> Please take note of the warnings and tags.
> 
> Beta duties performed once again by the marvellous [lydia_petze](http://lydia-petze.livejournal.com).

“So you won’t fuck me, but you don’t want anyone else to either.”

Connor looked away. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not?” Murphy came at him across the room, avoiding the beds like they were land mines. “That’s what you mean.”

“No, it isn’t.” Connor ran his hands through his hair and pulled hard, ignoring the darts of pain in his scalp. “Look, will you not just leave it? Can’t you ever take no for an answer?”

“Not unless you give me a good reason,” Murphy said. “And you haven’t so far. What’s your fucking problem, for Christ’s sake?” He stopped in front of Connor and took his hands, pressed them between his own as if in prayer. Connor wouldn’t meet his eyes, but he could feel them on his face. Murphy didn’t miss much when he looked at Connor.

“It’s not ... _him_ ,” Murphy said, meaning either God or their father, which came down to the same thing. Blasphemy maybe, but true enough in practice.

“No,” he answered. Keep it simple. Maybe he’d get tired and give up.

“You sure?”

He gave Murphy a look. “Murph, we’ve been doin’ this for a while now, and lightning hasn’t struck yet. I don’t think we’re in trouble with the Lord. And Da doesn’t care what we do, as long as we can hold a gun when he needs us to.” He thought he might be glossing over a bit there, but what Da didn’t know wouldn’t get their arses strapped.

Murphy narrowed his eyes for a second, then nodded. “Fine. Then what is it you’re scared of?”

“I’m not scared of _anything_ ,” Connor snapped. “I just don’t want to, all right?”

“Bullshit.” Murphy stepped a bit closer. “You want to. I want to.” He lifted Connor’s chin with two fingers and caught his eyes. “I can do it with someone else, but ... hell. I’ll tell you the truth, Connor: I need someone inside me. I want it to be you. It _should_ be you.”

Connor lost his breath for a second. Murphy could do that to him at the weirdest times. And he could never hide what he was feeling, especially this.

“You _do_ want to,” Murphy said. “Don’t bother lying.” His breath feathered over Connor’s face, warm, smelling of beer and smoke. “You’re a shit liar anyway.”

“Am not,” Connor said automatically.

“Are too.” Murphy leaned forward and bumped into him, losing his feet. Connor put his hands out to steady him. They splayed over Murphy’s chest and remained there, feeling his heartbeat.

“Where’s Da?” he asked. The little flat they’d rented was quiet, but it was quiet when Da was there, too. It felt different when he was gone, though. More peaceful. He didn’t examine that thought too closely.

“Gone out. Smecker called when you were sleeping.” Murphy put his hands in Connor’s hair and tugged. “We’ve got time.”

Connor stepped away. “Stop it. I said no.” He felt his heart pounding. He tasted copper and salt.

“Okay.” Murphy’s mouth thinned. His face hardened. “Fine. I’ll go find someone who’ll say yes.”

He made for the door, but Connor beat him there. They stared at each other in silence. Connor realised his hands were trembling.

“Murphy, please don’t.”

“Get out of the way, Connor.” Murphy’s voice was flat.

“No.”

“Move it.”

“Make me.”

Murphy’s punch took him by surprise. By the time he was back on his feet, Connor was listening to an empty apartment.

* * *

 _I just don’t want to_ , he’d said. Liar. It wasn’t true and Murphy knew it. Connor knew it too; he was just being a bastard. Always had to be the one to make the decisions, lead the way. Sometimes Murphy just wanted to crack him one so bad he’d fall flat on his arse.

Well, he’d just done that, hadn’t he? And it felt like shit, like he’d thought it would. But he did it anyway, because Connor thought he was just mucking around and he was serious about this. He’d been dreaming of it. There were times when he literally ached, like the empty part inside him was rotting away everything good around it. Part of it was just needing something more; they were working all the time now, with Smecker feeding them info and Da pushing them on, and he could hardly sleep at night without having Connor in arm’s reach. It wasn’t just that he wanted to fuck. He needed something to keep himself grounded, and Connor was it. But Connor didn’t want to fuck him. Connor wouldn’t even _talk_ about it. And the minute he’d said he could find someone else, Connor had the gall to look like Murphy had announced he wanted to drown kittens for kicks.

So this is rejection, Murphy thought, and started to run.

It was quiet on the streets. It seemed the slums of New York did sleep after all; Murphy had the sidewalks to himself. He pounded down them, getting a stitch and not caring. He’d find a pub and drink in it till they poured him out again, and then he’d find someone to fuck him, and if Connor didn’t like it he only had himself to blame.

He never got as far as the pub. There was a burned-out streetlight and a dead-end alley beyond it, and there were three guys who outweighed him and there were knives, and when they couldn’t find his money they went looking for something else instead.

Murphy thought, No, I don’t want to. Then he yelled it, but nobody was listening.

* * *

Connor chain-smoked and drank beer and thought about Murphy. He’d thought this thing about fucking was just Murphy being a shit, pushing for it because Connor said no, but his sore jaw told him otherwise. Maybe Murph was bent over a car somewhere right now, jeans around his ankles while some filthy guy pumped into his arse like a steam train. And maybe Murphy would come home in a couple of hours, tired and well fucked and satisfied, but not looking at Connor for days after.

How do you feel about it now? he asked himself. He looked at his lap and saw that his hands were fists.

He didn’t think any more. He just grabbed his coat and left.

* * *

Murphy was on his feet and staggering down the block when Connor found him. He tried to hide, but that was always useless; they could never play hide and seek when they were kids because they always found each other too easily. Connor came straight for him and had an arm around his waist before he could speak.

“Fuck!” Murphy said on a gasp. “Watch my ribs. The bastards kicked me.”

“What bastards?” Connor adjusted his grip on Murphy’s waist. “When?”

“Few minutes ago. Muggers. They jumped me from the alley back there.” Murphy bit back the rest. It could wait till they were home, and some of it could wait forever.

“You okay?”

“I’m walking, aren’t I?” Barely. He wanted a bath. And a shower.

“All right, don’t bitch at me,” Connor said. “Da’s going to murder you. We don’t have time for this.”

“Fuck Da and his timetable,” Murphy said. “We’re not punching a clock.”

“Say that to his face. I dare you.” Connor stopped them under a streetlight and looked at his face. “Jesus Christ, Murph, what’d they hit you with?”

“The concrete, mostly.” Murphy felt his nose and said a brief prayer that it wasn’t broken. “You know I’m crap at fighting when I’m sober.”

He could feel Connor wanting to say, This never would have happened if you’d stayed home, but Connor was apparently smart enough to keep his mouth shut. They went the rest of the way in silence.

It was a first floor apartment, thank God. Connor slung Murphy onto the sagging couch when they got inside and flicked on the light. “Stay there,” he said, and went into the kitchen.

“Leave the iron, you won’t need it,” Murphy said. “No deep cuts.”

“You were _cut_?” Connor reappeared briefly in the doorway. “How bad?”

“Not bad.” The couch was killing him. He shifted, half-lying on his side, angled out from the corner. Dreamed of a foot of hot water in the claw foot bathtub. He wanted Connor to come back and touch him, and he wanted to hit him again.

Water ran in the sink, and he heard Connor rummaging in their box of medical supplies. Murphy put his head back on the couch and closed his eyes.

* * *

Connor came back into the living room and stopped. Murphy was sprawled on the couch, breathing in shallow gasps, his face twisted in pain. Connor knelt down beside him and tried to sit him up, but Murphy muttered and went onto his side instead. The pain of moving woke him.

“Sit up, and I’ll strap your ribs,” Connor said.

Murphy shook his head. “I want a bath first.”

“A bath? Now?”

“Yep.” Murphy began to struggle to his feet. Connor either had to help him or get knocked over; he elected to help. He also had to run the water and help Murphy get his shirt off. Keeping his mouth shut during the process was the worst part of it; Murphy was already turning purple from chest to hipbone.

“Thanks,” Murphy said. “I’ll be fine now.” In other words, get out. Connor looked at him.

“You sure you’re all right? You sound weird.”

“One of ‘em grabbed my throat,” Murphy said. “I’m fine. I just want to soak for a bit.”

“All right.” Connor went to the door, hesitated, then came back and kissed him. Murphy twitched, then leaned into him. Connor pulled away. “Let me know when you’re finished and I’ll help you out.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Murphy said. Connor crossed his eyes at him and left the room.

* * *

Hot water, Murphy decided, was one of the finest medicines known to man. He sank into the tub and felt every ache and throb in his body come to life, then fade away like magic. He drew his knees up to his chest and bit his lip as the water surged into abused and bleeding places.

Well, he’d wanted to get fucked one way or the other. Connor had been the one; this still counted as the other, he supposed. Others, plural. Though he hadn’t really been able to tell when the first one left off and the second one started; it had all been pain by then, and the cold hard concrete under him, grit digging into his face and hands when they pushed him and held him down.

He was crying, but that was all right. Better out than in, wasn’t it? Connor might’ve been right about that all along. Better out than in.

Murphy sank down until the water covered his face. He felt his heart thumping slower in the heat, with more force than normal. He couldn’t hear anything over it. It was soothing. His skin stung in all the places he was cut, and his ribs stabbed at him for holding his breath. But really, it wasn’t so bad.

He stayed under until his hearing started to fade, and then he hyperventilated for a while. And after that, he went under to wash the tears off his face again.

* * *

It didn’t take long to patch Murphy up. The bath had helped by cleaning the dirt and blood away. It also showed up the bruises more clearly, but Connor couldn’t do anything for those. He strapped Murphy’s ribs and put peroxide on the cuts and that was that. Murphy sit still and let him do it. He looked pale and tired.

“Want help getting to bed?” Connor asked. Murphy nodded and sat forward on the couch. Connor got a shoulder under him and supported him into the bedroom they shared. The sheets rustled as Murphy lay down. Connor sat beside his hips.

“You don’t need to tuck me in, Ma,” Murphy said.

“Cut it out.” Connor ruffled his hair. His hand moved down over Murphy’s black eye and lingered on a scrape on his jaw. “You could’ve been killed instead of just bashed half to death.”

“Happens every day.” Murphy drew his legs up; Connor pulled up the blankets. “I could get shot tomorrow, for all we know. So could you.”

Connor moved his hand to Murphy’s chest. “I think I know what you were getting at before.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Murphy shifted, dislodging his hand. Connor put it back.

“No, listen. I want to tell you why I said no.”

“Forget about it. It doesn’t matter. You were right – I should just take no for an answer.”

“It does matter,” Connor said. “This is my fault.”

Murphy closed his eyes. “No, it isn’t.”

“Shut up and listen,” Connor said. “I thought it would hurt you. I – Fuck, this is stupid. I said no because I didn’t want to hurt you, all right?”

Murphy started to laugh.

* * *

Connor stared at him for a second. This was how Murphy had laughed when Papa Joe shot Rocco, only this was quieter. It lasted longer, though. He thought he was going to have to slap him, but Murphy eventually shut up and lay on the bed, panting.

“What the fuck was that?” Connor asked.

“That was me giving in to karma,” Murphy said. He sounded calm.

“Meaning?”

“Never mind.”

Connor shook his head. “Bullshit. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I’m tired,” Murphy said. “Sue me.”

“Not good enough,” Connor shot back. “Try again.”

“Fuck off, Connor.” Murphy pulled the blankets up to his neck and rolled away. Connor made a wild grab to pull him back, and Murphy flinched.

Connor looked at his hand on Murphy’s arse, looked at the stiff line of his spine, and dropped his hand like it was on a hot plate.

* * *

Fuck, Murphy thought. Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_.

“Karma,” Connor said. “I get it now.” He laughed, but it sounded bitter. “I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s bloody hilarious.”

Murphy rolled over again. “Forget about it,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t give me that crap.” Connor stood up. “You were raped.”

“Well, I got what I wanted, didn’t I?” Murphy said.

Connor slapped him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he breathed. “Don’t ever say anything like that to me again.” He loomed over the bed, and for a second Murphy saw what all the bad guys saw when they were working, and he was almost afraid. Then he saw the tears in Connor’s eyes.

“Shh,” he said. “It’s all right. I’m not even bleeding, for Christ’s sake.” Not anymore, at least.

“Like that makes it better?” Connor sat down again like someone took the bones out of his knees. “Jesus, Murphy. I was only scared of doing it because I knew it was going to hurt. God. If I’d just listened....”

“If I’d taken no for an answer,” Murphy cut in. “If Da was home. If, if, if. Forget it. It’s done.”

“I’ll kill ‘em,” Connor said softly. “You tell me everything you can remember, and I’ll go out tomorrow.”

“No.”

Connor’s head came up. “Yes.”

“No fucking way.”

“Murphy...”

“I said no.”

Connor stared at him, frustration in his face. “Why?”

“Because you’ll go out and you won’t be thinking straight and you’ll end up dead, is why. And do you want to explain to Da what you’re doing? Because I sure as hell don’t.”

The thought of Da finding out turned Murphy’s blood cold. Half the city would end up dead. Connor knew it too; he slumped, his head down. Murphy was gracious in victory. He shifted carefully over and pulled Connor down to lie with him.

“It’ll be all right,” he whispered. “Just give me a little time, and we’ll go together.”

Connor looked at him. The tears were still there. “Are you all right?” he whispered back.

“Yes.” Murphy kissed him. “Couple of days, I’ll be over it. Now go to sleep.”

He watched Connor doze off, heard his father come back, and still he lay awake watching the headlights of passing cars on the walls until dawn drove the shadows away.

* * *

Two weeks later they found the rapists completely by accident, when they visited a drug dealer ten blocks from the flat. Connor knew because Murphy stopped dead in the middle of the shooting, changed his aim and went for the crotch instead of the head. Connor never even had the chance to help, not that Murphy seemed to need it.

There was no praying over those dead bodies, and no coins for their eyes. Connor was glad Da wasn’t with them, because he surely would have asked what the fuck was going on. As it was, he struggled with the urge to make blood flow even though they were already dead. Murphy was pale with some inner turmoil of his own. Connor didn’t want to ask.

It didn’t seem fair, the way it happened: no hunt, no chase, no time for accusations or the attack of conscience. It felt like God had cheated their revenge. He might almost be saying, Payback is fine, but you can’t rub their noses in it. That’s My job. If that was the message, well ... Connor would pay attention, but he didn’t have to like it.

He didn’t go near Murphy while they finished their duties to the dead men, nor while they went back to the flat and cleaned up. Something in Murphy’s face, the way he carried himself, told Connor it would be a bad idea. And then Da was back from a job of his own, and there was no opportunity to slip away.

But he was there later that night when Murphy needed him, and that was the important thing.

* * *

Connor woke up to long kisses and questing hands under the blankets, and decided Da was out again. Murphy was a lump between his legs, working his shorts down to his knees and then crawling back up to give Connor his favourite kind of morning: one with a blowjob in it. The pleasure took him so quickly he didn’t have time to think before it was over, but he felt it afterward; his limbs were like water and he was sweating. Murphy appeared, smiling and licking his lips, and Connor wanted to kill him but couldn’t even find the energy to snap his fingers.

“Bastard,” he said by way of greeting.

“Good morning to you too.” Murphy stood up and threw the blankets to the floor. “Get up. Da’s gone out to get the paper, but he’ll be back any minute. Want him to catch you like this?”

“So what if he does?” Connor folded his arms under his pillow and closed his eyes. “He’s seen a man post-wank before.”

Murphy’s fist landed squarely in his gut, not quite hard enough to wind him. “Post-wank, is it? I’ll remember that. Hope you enjoyed that _wank_ , arsehole. It’s your last one.”

“Ha,” Connor said. “As if.” But that reminded him that Murphy hadn’t had his turn, and he sat up. Apparently there was no point, though; he wasn’t even hard.

“Never mind,” Murphy said when Connor looked up again. “Not in the mood.” But his smile dimmed, and they stopped mucking about and got dressed without saying more.

Murphy was skittish all day, twitching whenever someone passed near him, or when Connor touched him. But he never said anything, never pulled away, and Connor didn’t know what else to do except be there. Murphy climbed into bed with him that night even though Da was still awake, and Connor was relieved.

“You all right?” he asked. He’d been holding the question back all day.

“Fine,” Murphy said. “Just wanted some company.”

But he didn’t go to sleep, and neither did Connor. They listened to Da moving about the flat, turning off lights and going into the other bedroom. Then there was silence except for their breathing and the traffic noise outside.

Murphy slid onto Connor’s chest and started kissing his neck.

Connor went still. “Murph, what are you doin’?” he whispered.

“What does it feel like?” Murphy said, and bit his ear.

“Trouble,” Connor muttered. “Shouldn’t you be trying to get some sleep?”

“I don’t want to sleep.” Murphy kissed along his collarbones. “I want you.”

“That’s good to know. But we have to be up at five tomorrow, or did you forget?”

“Didn’t forget,” Murphy said. “Don’t care right now.” He moved down to investigate Connor’s chest. Connor bit his tongue and clutched the sheets when Murphy licked down to his sternum and lingered there, nuzzling. He was beginning not to care about much of anything himself.

Murphy came back up and kissed him for about half an hour. “Do something for me?” he breathed.

“Hmmm.” Connor was lightheaded. He drew in a breath, and that seemed to help.

“Kiss me,” Murphy said. He took Connor’s hand and put it on his arse. “Here.”

* * *

Connor sat up and nearly cracked Murphy’s nose with his forehead. “What?”

Murphy felt the heat rising in his face. His voice was uneven. “You heard me.”

It seemed Connor understood, because he relaxed. Murphy chanced another kiss and got Connor’s tongue halfway down his throat, which he took as a good sign. He kissed back until he couldn’t breathe and then pulled away to lie on his stomach. Connor shifted around and lay over him, kissing the nape of his neck, raising gooseflesh. Murphy shut his eyes and let go of all the fear and stress, letting Connor love him all the way down his back. It took a long time, and he shivered a lot and bit his pillow, but it was good.

Then Connor leaned on his elbows, used both hands to part the cheeks of his arse and went to work for real. Thirty seconds later Murphy was making small breathless sounds and his legs were like rubber but his dick was hard for the first time in weeks. Connor nudged his thighs further apart with a shoulder, and Murphy drew up on his knees and thought, If I die right now I’ll go happy. Connor was very, very good at this. There was soft wet heat and short thrusts from Connor’s tongue, and every now and then Connor thrust a finger in as well, which made Murphy jump but it didn’t hurt, didn’t feel anything like pain. He moaned into his pillow the first time and Connor stopped, but then Murphy pushed back with his hips and Connor got the idea and did it again, and again, until Murphy had to stuff the pillow into his mouth to keep quiet.

It got even better when Connor stopped fingering him and reached around and grabbed his dick, not really able to stroke but just fondling. That was enough; Murphy lost his breathing rhythm and his hips started to jerk without his permission, and when the orgasm hit him he fell flat on the bed because his arms wouldn’t hold him up anymore. He felt like al dente pasta. Connor had to roll him over to be able to lie down himself.

They breathed heavily in the quiet for some time, cooling down. Murphy reached over when his arms started to work again, but Connor stopped him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I had my own fun.”

Murphy felt his way along anyway and found it was true, and that made him ridiculously proud because he hadn’t even _touched_ Connor. He turned into Connor’s shoulder and lay close.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Connor replied, and kissed his forehead. “Feel all right?”

“Mm-hm,” Murphy said, half-asleep. “Much better.”

“Good. Now will you let me get some fucking sleep?”

“Fuck you, Connor.”

“Now there’s an idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> I ... hadn't re-read this since I wrote it, and on skimming it while reposting it here I recognise there are a number of things in there that don't belong in rape-recovery fic (I'm sure you can identify them). I've left them in rather than edit the fic (as a reminder to myself of what _not_ to do). Just wanted to point out that yes, I'm aware there are problems in this.


End file.
